Ellipsis
by Tijuana Pirate
Summary: They are real people in the unreality that surrounds them. Vincent and Tifa, from OGC to DOC. There's always another story.


**Author's Notes**: Is_bel over on livejournal requested this story from me last Christmas. She wanted a Vincent-Tifa story based on the main theme song of Princess Mononoke and this is what I came up with.

I started writing this fic almost a year ago, sitting in a coffee shop on my university campus. The fine arts students display their work there sometimes and there was one painting that was litterally three trees on a pointed hill, with one burning. Hence this the start of this story.

I have a weird obsession with POV, mostly because I'm convinced that it's pretty much impossible to get the _whole_ story of something. I was trying to cover all the ways that you _can_ talk about Vincent and Tifa in one story - or at least the different ways that _I_ can talk about them. I know that all writers are essentially saying the same things over and over again but I feel like I've finally exorcized what I wanted to say about these two... which is a pretty wonderful thing, really.

This one is for is_bel. Everyone else, enjoy.

* * *

Le jour n'a d'égal que la nuit - _day has no equal but night_

Anne Hébert

Ellipsis

I have a story that I would like to tell you. It isn't mine and I can't start at its beginning – if it has a beginning.

I used to believe that stories ended when the characters in them died but I've begun to realize that life isn't that simple. This story can't work in synchrony. I'm missing pieces of it. Perhaps I've deliberately willed myself to forget some along the way.

I doubt that the gods will ever forgive me my sins. It's for that precise reason that I need to tell you this story to the fullest extent that I can.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

_There are three trees on a pointed hill and one is burning. The ground looks black beneath them, the sky a blurred parody of whites and grey. The wind whips and burns at me and I have to try to keep my face covered while keeping my eyes clear._

The clouds were sooty and vomited out snow like ice on the field below. The one burning tree may have made some sound but Tifa couldn't hear it. The crackle and hiss of the flames were lost in the wind, one form of violence swallowed by another.

If it wasn't for the tree that was burning, Tifa wouldn't have taken notice of her surroundings at all.

Vaguely, she can recall a past that used to be hers, when veterans would come to her bar and tell her stories of the war. Distantly, she can hear one of them now.

_It sounds like the wrath of the gods, Miss. Ya drink that sound real deep, deep down. Your eyes, they're wide open and ya feel yourself changin'. It ain't the earth around ya no more. They ain't people no more. Ya gotta wonder what_ you _are, Miss, because your heart just stops beatin'; just like that. Ya stop feelin' nothin' at all. It's like someone's reached right down your throat and grabbed ya right in your chest, ya hear me? Then they pull out everythin' that y'ever thought ya could've been. They rip it out of ya and in all of that blood 'n piss 'n burning flesh, ya realize that y'ain't never gonna be whole again._

Fifteen men dead. It had to be at least fifteen. They'd tried to take him alive, gods only knew why. They were …

_Like ribbons, flesh and blood on the snow._

His face was uncovered. One hand was clearly covered in metal, twisted into some kind of a voracious prison. The second was bare against the cold. Instinctively, Tifa knew that he couldn't feel the wind that was whipping at her. He was immune to it.

He noticed her then. No reaction on his features except for the smallest of movements because he was walking up towards her. The ice had swallowed Tifa's legs and she couldn't move. Her eyes scanned the snow; documenting, documenting.

It was like someone had reached down her throat and –

"Tifa," he said, his voice so suddenly there. She felt the most irrational desire to be able to hear the tree on the hill burning, oh so far away.

"Tifa," he said again and Tifa felt a moment of panic. In fairytales, if they said your name three names they stole your soul.

"Tifa, are you unwell?" he asked and she suddenly felt like sobbing.

_There_, she thought. _Now he's trapped me._

"There's blood on your hand, Vincent," her voice said, its throat raw.

_Because he'd reached down and_ –

Vincent looked at his human hand first and then his metallic one. His eyes widened suddenly, mildly surprised at the red rivers running down it. The cold was forcing the blood to coagulate and so the drips fell slowly, leaving small red splatters on the white snow below.

"Forgive me, Tifa," he said calmly, taking the hem of his cloak and running it over his claw. The blood smeared, fading into a blurry red haze against the coppery gold. He looked up at her candidly halfway through the task. "I could not feel it."

Tifa nodded numbly and suddenly Vincent's human hand was on her shoulder. She looked up. His eyes were watching hers objectively, passively measuring her ability to be lucid.

"It's cold here, Vincent," Tifa complained quietly. He nodded gravely and used his good hand to turn her away from the carnage in front of her.

"Come away then, Tifa," he said simply. Some small part of her realized that -

_There was nothing there, nothing there at all._

Vincent led the way back to the group's camp and the warmth of their firelight. In the distance, a lone tree burned on in silence.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

I'm not sure if I can make you understand what he was like. It was a vague, shaking feeling. Something visceral. I couldn't sleep for weeks afterwards. He never said or did anything. I swear to all the gods, it was such a relief when we saw the first of his monsters. That way, he was easier to define. There's a beautiful simplicity in watching a _thing_ snap its jagged teeth, in watching a _thing_ flex its claws. _Things_ can ruin men. _Things_ can leave red tracks in the snow.

People are such soft, fleshy creatures.

It was almost like a gift, in a way. After that scene on the hill, I stopped being able to feel so many things. There are levels of violence, you see. He gave me that gift at the very beginning of it all.

The others, I sometimes envied them their swords and shuriken. I couldn't disconnect like that. I was trapped with the only two weapons tha tthe gods had ever given me. Vincent at least understood what it meant to be reduced to fighting with your hands.

Maybe we're all bound to see pieces of ourselves reflected in the people around us. I sometimes wonder if he saw hints of himself in me as well.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

_There is no other place on the planet quite like Cosmo Canyon. The red rocks radiate heat even in the dead of night. Deep in the heart of the canyon, Red XIII laughs and tells us about the Cosmo Candles, making jokes about frail human physiology. It's a rare luxury for us to be sitting so casually together. We're all looking to feel a little bit … cleaner, I suppose._

They'd been travelling too long, Tifa knew. Cosmo Canyon was a welcome distraction from what still lay ahead of them. Their purpose had taken on a relentless form of personification in her mind. She fell asleep with it each night and was greeted by it every morning. She felt it as keenly as she felt the red glare of Meteor above them, colouring the sky.

In a rare show of true leadership, Cloud had suggested the Canyon for a few days rest. _Even SOLDIERs get R&R,_ he'd joked, looking askance at Tifa when he said it. She'd smiled at him softly. The truth still sat a little uneasily between them. Tifa didn't know what to make of the boy she still saw when she looked at him. She sometimes wondered if he had the same problem.

Still, tonight everyone felt very much in the present. Those Cosmo Candles had left a deep warmth in Tifa's stomach. Cid was arguing with Yuffie over something, with Barret and Cait Sith sometimes getting a word in edgewise over the noise. Cloud and Nanaki seemed content to watch them from outside of the fray, a small smile touching Cloud's mouth.

Tifa felt more than saw the movement that made her head turn. A tiny sliver of crimson escaped her vision and she frowned before standing somewhat unsteadily. Cloud gave her a look which she ignored as she followed after Vincent.

She caught up with him at the top of the stairs which lead to the bar-cum-Inn's rooms.

"It's polite to say goodnight before you turn in, Vincent," she said, the words out of her mouth before she'd even thought them. He turned suddenly and looked at her, Tifa shifted on her feet. Sometimes he…

Vincent turned on his heel and walked a few feet away from her, unconsciously moving them away from the noise below.

Tifa made a sound in the back of her throat.

"It's also rude to walk away from people, Vincent Valentine."

Her tone made him stop and look at her again.

"You appeared… engaged, Tifa. I doubted that anyone would notice my departure."

Tifa walked forward until she was about a foot away from Vincent and poked him hard in the chest.

"Shows what you know, Mr. Valentine," she said lightly. "I happen to be a very observant person."

Tifa looked up to see Vincent watching her very closely. Her cheeks burned at the scrutiny and she looked down again. Gods, this was stupid. She -

Vincent's index finger touched the edge of Tifa's chin, nudging her head up to look at him again.

"Are you?" he asked, the words like a cool line of cold water down her spine. There was a crushing pressure in her chest. She'd never looked at him so closely before. All that she could see was the unnatural red of his irises.

"Someone told me that once," she said, her voice so hushed that she could barely hear it. Against her will, the hand that she had against his chest flattened. She could feel his heartbeat against her fingertips.

It was the kind of confused burn that could only come with all the wrong feelings. The damned liquor was screaming in her veins and all she could think was that maybe he really was human underneath all the layers of dusty leather. She wanted to trail her fingers along the sides of him. She wanted to see his eyelashes flutter and close.

Maybe it was just a question of force and pressure. Maybe she could keep bending him until -

She could almost imagine the feel of his mouth kissing her stomach and she wanted to keep that dream of tenderness alive forever.

"Tifa," he said, the rasp in the back of his throat it letting her _know_ – after all, she'd already learnt what it felt like to catch herself like that.

She moved her hand away from his chest and took a tiny half step back. There, now they were comfortable again and they could go on pretending that he wasn't human at all.

_Stupid flutter at the look of his eyes as if_ –

There wasn't even a need to apologize because they hadn't done anything wrong. After a moment of silence they said goodnight and went to sleep in their separate bedrooms.

Neither had nightmares.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

It was a kind of running audacity, the way we kept on catching ourselves like that. I'd pretend that I didn't notice him and he'd pretend that he didn't notice me. He was the kind of wraith that was always moving in and out of a room. I don't know if the others ever wondered very much about him.

I couldn't help it. He was like a flutter beneath my own pulse. I didn't know who he was – I didn't know what _I_ was. But somehow that didn't really matter.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

_When it happens, I feel him die. That's the only way that I can explain it. Watching those lights fall down around Midgar one by one, I know that he's gone. The pain settles down into me and I know that I'm never going to lose hold of that feeling. Cloud touches my hand and promises me that he'll be back. For the first time in my life, I find myself wondering if Cloud can feel it too - the thread that winds between each of us. I don't know if he's trying to be kind or if he knows something more than I do. It doesn't matter. I squeeze his fingers in thanks. _

Tifa hadn't gone with the others when they'd left to search for him. Shelke had been hit with a kind of purpose that Tifa could understand. After all, she knew what it felt like to owe her life to someone.

For once, she didn't want to hold onto hope for something. There was something missing for her now and it wove its way around her like a snake in her stomach. She moved quietly and said very little because she was afraid that if she spoke too much she'd never stop talking. If she moved too quickly she'd never stop running. She -

Oh, it was irrational and mad but she knew that she had to keep her grief quiet and inside of herself. She didn't know if she'd be able to stay whole if she said the words out loud.

He knocked at her door. When she opened it her first irrational thought was to wonder how he'd ever convinced the others to let him come and speak to her alone.

Her second thought was that he looked lighter, somehow, even though he was still skirting away from the dangerous thing that was looking her directly in the eye.

When she had stood in her empty doorway too long he made a noise in the back of his throat before speaking.

"Hello, Tifa. May I come in?"

That was when she punched him; a right hook to the jaw hard enough to make him stumble back. Vincent's good hand flew to his jaw and he looked at her wide-eyed. Tifa's shoulders heaved.

"You - you _bastard_, Vincent Valentine! Do you have… do you have _any_ idea how worried we've been about you? Do you have any idea how I –"

A shiver ran through Tifa and she couldn't speak anymore. She turned sideways to face the wood of her doorway, her fingers wiping at her eyes.

It took Vincent a moment before he righted himself and walked over to her. Cautiously, he put his good hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry that I made you worry, Tifa," he said softly. After a half-moment's hesitation he took another step forward, putting a bit of pressure on her shoulder. Something inside Tifa of collapsed and she twisted in towards him. After a moment, Vincent moved his hand from her shoulder to the base of her neck. Tifa tightened her arms compulsively against him and Vincent's bad hand moved against the small of her back. He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"I should kill you for doing this to me, Vincent," Tifa accused harshly, her voice tear-streaked and angry. He smiled.

"Maybe later," he promised.

At some point they moved inside to rest in Tifa's living room. Vincent sat on the floor with his back against her couch. Tifa, for her part, wasn't completely willing to move away from him and so she sat with her arms looped around him, her cheek unconsciously placed over his heart. She could feel it beating quietly against her skin, the feel of it comforting and steady.

"I don't want us to be separate anymore, Vincent," she said, like it was confession that she was making.

"Is that what you think we are?" he asked, his voice like the dust that was touching the horizon, setting it all aflame. Tifa felt her throat close because –

_The light was unnatural and off but the colours_ –

Oh, life wasn't made of easy and straightforward choices. He was everything that she could see and the thought alone terrified her. Tifa could understand instinctively why Lucrecia had chosen her glass prison instead of a chance at rest or memory. It was easier to keep it all locked away, trapped inside of you.

_Lockheart, like it was some kind of a cosmic joke_ –

She looked up at eyes she recognized, within which she could see her own reflection. It was so buried; and so wide open, defiant in the world for all to see.

_No more visible than one burning tree on a black hilltop, outlined by a blurred horizon_ –

Her fingers traced the line of his cheek and he half-smiled at her.

_So terrifying to see him_ intact _like that_ –

Tifa smiled a long, soft smile.

"No," she said quietly. "I think that we've probably always been attached at the hip."

Vincent snorted and turned his face slightly to the left, not quite enough to pull away from her fingers.

"Siamese twins," he joked under his breath.

"Exactly," Tifa said.

When he looked over at her again, Tifa shifted so that she could sit firmly on his lap.

"I don't want anyone else," she said, soft enough that no one else but Vincent would've been able to hear her. His hand cupped her chin, his fingers lingering down on her pulse.

"Is that what you believe?" he asked, eyes open and unflinching.

Tifa's smile deepened. She leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his, revelling in the feel of him, drinking him in.

It was the easiest way to answer that question.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

All I ask is that you judge us by all of our actions. We'll find our salvations in the gods.

* * *


End file.
